Pretty Poison
by lirpa
Summary: Kinda dark, you have to read it. Old angle, it's a monolouge, like all of my work.


Pretty Poison (1/1)  
by lirpa  
  
Okay, this fic just kinda grew outa somewhere, I'm not quite sure where however. I did alert me to a new muse, a muse I have the feeling is going to be somewhat bossy about being included in my future literary endeavors. This is another monolouge, that's what I seem to be best at writing, after all. It's not my fault, the muse made me write this. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Oh, and I don't own the characters, if I did it would be HHH vs. Jericho at WM, just cause I don't see two heels in the WM main match, and I like Trippy better than Angle :) Anyways, here's the fic. Enjoy! And look, it's still not Steven!  
  
Pretty Poison  
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You'd think I've seen it all in the WWF, and I have seen people come in freshfaced and happy, then seen them leave broken-hearted. I suppose I've suffered my fair share of injuries, done my time you might say. i'm accepted in the locker room. Hell, I'm respected, but I've made some stupid mistakes as well. I've come out all right from all of it, maybe even a stronger person, as corny as that sounds, and I imagine it sounds pretty damn corny, but I think it's true. I've made some enemies ans I've made some friends. I've turned enemies into friends and vice versa. I've been here a while, not as long as some, but still long enough to understand how this business works. You either step on people's necks or you get stepped on. There is no middle ground, don't believe anyone ho tells you otherwise, it's just wishful thinking on their part. There are no real friends in this busines and you have to keep remiding yourself not to teust anyone, or you'll get knifed. The etire idea is to knife the other guy, or girl, first and be done with it. Trust me, they may hate you, but they only hate you because you've beat them to the punch, so to speak. Sure,there's a sort of camraderie in the back, especially between the mid-carders. But the people at the top, the people like me, well, some say we're really standoffish, aloof, you might say. It's what happens when you chase the biggest prize in the business, when you want the WWF title, when you're good enough to take it, to hold it, to protect it. The whole locker room chases that title, no matter where they are. It's the thing you aspire to in our business, to be good enough to hold the most coveted gold. It's made people paranoid, it's made people sell their souls to the devil, just to have it, to say thay are the best, even if they had to cheat and lie and steal to get it. Hell, I've done all of that and more, and I'm proud of it, proudof what it got me. I've done ehatever I needed to do to get and keep that particular prize. Because when you have it, you're on top of the mountain, you're flying, and for a moment you forget that when you go back to the back there won't be anyone waiting to celebrate with you, there won't be anyone to congratulate you on your win, and if there is, if there is then you have to think why they're doing this, their motovation, what they want from you, what they want to take from you. and while you're sitting at the top of the mountain, while you are the king of the castle, so to speak, you realize just how lonely this business is. There's you searching for the gold, but the gold won't talk to you, or tell you that your last match was good, but you need to improve this or the other. The gold won't hold you when you feel like crying because it'a all too much, the gold won't help you through and injury. Those are things that people can do, those are things that people do do for the people around them. Only when you're the first person of wrestling, so to speak, then those people vanish into the proverbial puff of smoke. When you are the WWF champion you are alone. The other members of the locker room look at you with envy, and you look at them with distrust, because they would never want to know who you truly are, they just want to become intimately accquainted with the most prized possession in the business. I've done some things I'm not proud of in my time, things that whe I sit down and think about them, really thin, make me sick to my stomach. I've done it all for this title and when you get that title you realize what an empty thing it truly is. it doesn't care, but it becomes your only care, your best friend, your only friend. and when you get clocked with it so some other poor sap can realize his dreams of "greatnes" you're left empty, a shell of the person you were before you started to chase after that cursed piece of metal and leather. But it's too late by then, you see, becaus you have no friends, you have no life, you've given it all away for a chance to hold the gold. Ahh, but it's not you holding the gols, it's the gold holding you, making you do things you wouldn'y normally do, just to hold it again, see your face reflecting in the shiny sufrace. It's o beautiful and it means everything o you because it's all you have left. And when you don't have it, it'a all you can think about, all you can dream about. You'll hurt people, just to get it. It's like a drug, a drug that I'm addicted to. A drug that I need to bring any sort of meaning to my life Which is ironic, really. The selfsame thing that I gave my life away to obtain, and it need it to keep meaning in my life. It has become my everything, it has become more important to me than my family, I can't think past the next time I'll cradle it in my arms. You know, I think I was wrong, th title isn't a drug, it's a poison. A pretty poison for which there is no cure.  
  
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Kinda dark, yes. Only one part, yes. Definately a different muse, hell yeah. I think I might have been chanelling Stone cold, a kinda dark spiel on that whole addicted to the WWF title speech. Eh, it's an all right fic. I hope you've enjoyed it. 


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